


lives we live (but why do we live)

by linoleumfloor



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Just kill me already, hell yeah im fuckin trash, this is my trash fic but i still love it sorry guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linoleumfloor/pseuds/linoleumfloor
Summary: "it wasn't for you. the decision wasn't for your own good. you decided to fight either for or against the inquisition, for or against your own people."





	lives we live (but why do we live)

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i call this "farran makes another fire emblem/dragon age au where an aggressive/warrior!inquisitor is too tired to keep fighting and reader is too tired to give up and someone always leaves"
> 
> dragon age belongs 2 bioware & fire emblem belongs 2 memetendo
> 
> i spent like a month or something writing this i am. sorry my dudes.

"don't leave" he tells you, asks you, begs you. he is desperate, a mess, and selfish. "stay for me."

  


"i am following my duty, lord inquisitor. i expect you to know that you've your own to fulfill," you tell him. you are quiet, you are somber and tired and you want to stay home but duty never leaves your mind because your job has always come before anything else. "you're making this harder than it needs to be."

  


he does not know what pain you go through, what choices you have regretfully made, the ones you could never protect because you were too slow, too slow, too--

  


you were never enough, and you tell yourself this as you walk away from him.

  


"don't tell me goodbye, not after everything that's happened, not after all of this,"

  


you don't turn back. you cant turn back. one look behind you and everything you built up will crumble like dirt being kicked. you cant keep stumbling back when you've walked forward for so long without a soul to accompany you through the pain and the hardships you treaded through, barefoot on heated knives and thoughts of 'don't go on, don't go on, don't go on' piercing through your skull.

  


turning back means giving up. you will not give up, you have stepped a hundred spaces forward and will not condemn yourself to run back to what you've already seen those hundred spaces back. you will keep walking into the unknown, into the heat of the battle, into weapons and bloodshed and wars if it meant you could only look ahead and never go back.

  
  
"you're making it worse for yourself," he tells you. he does not know. he does not get to tell you that what you do to yourself is not healthy, that it won't help, that it is throwing away something too important to lose. he does not get to tell you to stop doing the only thing you've ever known to do.

  


you are a protector, a savior. you are not a good person, but you will do what you can to ensure the safety of who you serve and give up your life to. 

  


you are weak. but he has told you a million times before, "you are stronger than who you think you'll always be" but after today you're sure he'll tell the people who ask about you that you're "good for nothing, something that hindered the inquisition and with their absence we can flourish."

  


you are weak. but a million times before, he has shown you all the flowers in fields that remind him of you, he's shown you the people you've fought hard to save, he's shown you the lives you've improved because you decided to stay. 

  


"don't tell me you aren't strong," and he continues to bring your barriers of feelings down. "don't say that when there are times that you could have killed the enemy but decided that you could talk it out and let them atone for their crimes. don't say you're weak just because you let someone live."

  


he doesn't get to play you like this, he _shouldn't_.

  


"stop talking," you calmly tell him, but your voice wavers. you can't keep going. you don't want to fall but sometimes it's too hard to stay up. you don't want to fall back and give up, you don't want to run the wrong way instead of venture into darkness unexplored by you. a small part of you wanted to sprint back into safety because, before him, there was no comfort to run to.

  


but even when there was no comfort to run to, running for the nothingness felt like running into the warmth.

  


"don't leave," he repeats. you hear a rustle of sheets behind you, then soon after the light sound of bare feet dropping to the ground. he is desperate for you to come back, but at the same time he's too tired of people leaving him.

  


he wants to fall into your embrace and feel hardships burn away with the warmth you give him when your arms wrap around his frame. he wants to bury his face into your neck and forget about the dangers of corypheus, forget about the advisers who await his word, forget about past pains of his family and think only of living in the moment.

  


you lived too quickly, you went through life like a spell being cast. you wanted to be useful just long enough, just for that short but important time then fade away. you wanted little to do with the world, you didn't have enough time to meander and fraternize. if you stayed too long you would make relations, you would care too much and love even more. if you made relations you would never leave, you would never find a way to get out. you didn't want to be tied down, but at the same time being tied down felt better than walking alone into your death a thousand times.

  


he lived slower, calmer. he was the eye of a hurricane and you were the wild winds surrounding him. he fought with grace, precision. he may not have been as good a strategist as you or cullen, but every thrust of his sword was meant to kill. he was hot headed and ill tempered, he was brash and loud and full of mistakes and he knew it. but under it all, under the tears he makes when he cant fight fast enough, under the frustrated shouts he lets out when plans play out too slow for his liking, he'd rather live slow.

  


living slow meant he could cherish his time spent with comrades. he could forget about his mistakes, he could forget about himself and be someone different. he could leave the trevelyan household behind, he could leave his prodigious older siblings behind in he dust while he worked hard to stay where he is now. if everything went slow maybe you'd stay a little longer. 

  


but things aren't that simple.

  
  
you would walk away and never go back to him, or you would run to him, and tell him that you could never leave him for a duty that hasn't needed your attention in years. you could run, you could move your legs on one side or the other. to you, it was always two choices, two different lives you could choose between having.

  


you could have gone back, become a soldier for your lieges again. or you could have stayed with him, lived with him and fought for the inquisition a little longer. either choice was always fighting, always another war to force yourself to fight in for the good of the people.

  


it wasn't for you. the decision wasn't for your own good. you decided to fight either for or against the inquisition, for or against your own people.

  


he walks to where you are.

  


you're stopped in front of the door leading out of the room. the door handle is still cold, the night is no longer young. it is dark, too dark. you'd rather be in bed, be with the warmth that your inquisitor could provide.

  


the door creaks.

  


"why can't i convince you?" he asks. he's a myriad of emotions. he's frustrated and upset and irrational. he always has been. he's sad and alone and every feeling he has right now feels like the end of each battle he fights but amplified. "what did i do wrong?"

  


it's half open.

  


"i'm doing my duty," you say. you're grasping the handle of the door so hard that you think it might break. you're almost away, you're almost breaking free from what you know. you have time to go back, to fix what you're breaking. "i'm doing what i must."

  


a foot is out the door and a hand is on your shoulder.

  


"come back," he's whispering and it hurts. he's supposed to be yelling at you, alerting attention and convincing you to stay and fight with him. he's supposed to be crying, punching the wall, curling his fists into balls so tight they hurt when he opens them. but he is calm and quiet and it something you hate.

  


"i can't keep promises, not forever," and you touch the hand still on your shoulder. a light graze upon his bare fingers, a single touch and that's all you can give him. anymore and you would step back and erase all the progress of trying to leave.

  


so you run into the unknown once more.


End file.
